His Best Friend's Wife. Lee McKenzie

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СКАЧАТЬ you, Dr. Woodward. I—we—really appreciate it.”

      “I remember you,” Mable said to him out of the blue. “You’re old Doc Woodward’s son.”

      “I am.”

      “You were in my English class, but that was a long time ago.”

      “So, you do remember me.”

      “Of course I do. You were friends with Jack Evans and that Larsen boy.”

      “That’s right.”

      “You were a better student, as I recall. Homework always done on time, good grades. And now you’re a doctor, too.”

      “I am.”

      “Well, your father must be proud. How is he, anyway?”

      “He’s doing well.” There was no point in telling her that his father was a little lacking in the son-I’m-so-proud-of-you department, or that he was also seeing the Alzheimer’s specialist in Madison.

      “And those other boys?”

      “A couple of months ago, Jack was appointed Riverton’s new chief of police. He’s living here now and engaged to Emily Finnegan. And Eric Larsen...” Paul had to pause, steady breath. “He passed away six months ago.”

      “He died so young?” Mable asked.

      “Too young.”

      “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

      Libby stood and urged her mother out of her chair. “We should go, Mom. Thank you,” she said to Paul.

      “No problem. I’d like to see your mother again in two weeks. You can stop at the desk on your way out and have them set up the appointment.”

      “I will. I hope late afternoons will work because I’ll be teaching during the daytime.”

      “That won’t be a problem. I’ll be taking late appointments two days a week and for a few hours every other Saturday.”

      Paul let himself out of the room and returned to his desk. He updated Mable Potter’s file, added it to the stack, then looked at his watch. He should run to his father’s place, check on the old man, make sure he had eaten the lunch Paul had left out for him that morning. He hated himself for thinking it, but few things had less appeal.

      Stacey stepped around the partition, another chart in hand. “Sorry, Dr. Woodward. Another patient just came in. Would you like me to tell her to come back after lunch?”

      “What are her symptoms?”

      “Sore throat, nasty cough, low-grade fever.”

      Paul reached for the folder. “I’ll see her now, then I’ll take a break.” One thing about being in a small town, he could leave the clinic and be anyplace in five minutes.

      “Thanks. I’ll get her set up in an examining room.”

      He glanced at the file, recognized the name immediately.

      Rose Daniels.

      * * *

      ANNIE WENT THROUGH the motions of preparing lunch without giving a lot of thought to what she was doing. Then again, why would she need to? She had made hundreds, no, more like thousands, of lunches. She had been making lunches for as long as she could remember. So while she put on a pot of freshly gathered eggs to boil and sliced thick slabs of home-baked wheat bread, her mind was elsewhere and her emotions were not in keeping with her role as maker of family lunches.

      Her reaction to seeing Paul had been nothing short of inappropriate. He was her husband’s best friend! She had been surprised to see him, and happy, of course, but not that kind of happy. It was easy enough to explain her reaction. She had been terrified that something might be terribly wrong with Isaac, angry with CJ for letting Isaac fall, impatient with the admissions clerk. Had her emotions been irrational? Of course they had. They had been out-of-character for her, and that meant all of her other actions and reactions had been equally over-the-top.

      The timer buzzed. Annie removed the pot from the stove and transferred the eggs to a bowl of ice water. While they cooled, she finely diced a couple of celery stalks, minced several green onions and chopped a bunch of fresh parsley.

      Paul wasn’t just Eric’s friend. He was her friend, too. Of course she was happy to see him and relieved to know that he would be taking care of her son. She hadn’t been able to rely on anyone but herself for a long time and it had been a relief to let someone else step in.

      If she was being honest, she had at times resented Eric’s carefree life. While he had gone off to college and earned a degree, Annie had stayed in Riverton and cared for her family. After they were married, she had stayed at home and baked bread while Eric had stayed after school and coached the senior boys’ basketball team all the way to the state championship. While she washed, folded and put away a mountain of laundry, he took a group of students on a ski trip. In all fairness to her husband, he had never demanded any of those things of her. He only had to ask, and she was all over it. She had willingly taken on all of the responsibility. She always had.

      And you probably always will.

      One by one, she plucked the chilled eggs from the bowl of water, gave them a gentle smack against the cutting board and peeled the shells.

      Annie had been only six years old when her mother left. Even in the early days before her mother walked out on them, Annie had vague recollections of being the caregiver, fetching her mother a glass of water from the kitchen and the bottle of pills from the bureau drawer because Mommy had a headache. Keeping her younger sisters entertained because Mommy needed to rest. Making lunch for her siblings because Mommy wasn’t feeling well that day. Looking back, life had actually become a little easier after their mother abandoned them because there had been one less person to look after.

      Her father had ended up in a wheelchair after a stint in Iraq. The details of that event had always been sketchy because he had sheltered his daughters from the horrific details. He had been the one person in her life who had truly needed looking after and yet she had very few memories of ever actually doing anything for him.

      She dumped the peeled eggs into a crockery bowl and mashed them with her pastry blender, which was much more efficient than a fork, then tossed in the chopped vegetables, sprinkled on salt and pepper, scooped in some mayonnaise and stirred.

      By the time she started high school, Annie had been everyone’s go-to gal when it came to getting things done. She had organized bake sales and car washes, served on decorating committees, volunteered in the school library and served on student council. She had been a going concern and so had Eric. The difference had been that she created posters for the car wash to raise money for the boys’ basketball team and made arrangements to hold it at Gabe’s Gas ’n’ Go, while Eric showed up in board shorts and dazzled all the girls by stripping off his T-shirt. And no one had been more dazzled than she. She always had to hand it to him, though. No matter how many girls flirted with him, he was always quick to point out that he was Annie’s guy, strictly off-limits. She would have done anything for him, and he had never hesitated to ask.

      Annie slathered butter onto slices of bread, spread СКАЧАТЬ